I Can't Promise That Things Won't Be Broken
by awwcoffeenooooo
Summary: "You can't possibly be wanting a known killer in your apartment, Fitz," Jemma responds, reaching for the cap to the whiskey bottle. "How would you even be able to sleep at night?" "Rather soundly, I'd imagine." (A FitzSimmons Kastle AU. Ish.)


_They say that love is forever_

 _Your forever is all that I need_

 _Please stay as long as you need_

 _Can't promise that things won't be broken_

 _But I swear that I will never leave_

 _Please stay forever with me_

 _\- If I'm James Dean, You're Audrey Hepburn_

* * *

"You need to be more careful,"

Jemma only shrugs, not daring to meet Fitz's gaze.

He sighs, pressing the gauze tighter against the jagged cut across her upper hip. She inhales a slight bit sharper, but otherwise gives off no impression she's in pain.

"No one cares, Fitz," she mutters, pulling back the blood soaked material of her undershirt. "If I turn up dead, it's just one less thorn in the station's side,"

He hesitates, before speaking quietly. "I care,"

Jemma does look at him then, her eyes soft, and Fitz has to force himself to meet her worn gaze. Her skin is blotched by splatters of crimson - none of it her own - and it all seems to run together with the freckles he loves so much. There's deep hollows beneath her eyes, one of them blackened by a stray punch.

"Caring is a weakness," she whispers, swallowing thickly and looking away.

Fitz pulls the gauze pad from her side, instead prepping a thread and needle. "Yeah, well, I do. And nothing you do or say can change that,"

She does hiss at the first puncture of the needle, taking a quick swig out of the whiskey that Fitz had brought her earlier. He sighs.

"I kill people, Fitz," she responds eventually. "I'm not a good person."

He shakes his head, deftly twisting the scissors and snipping the thread in a stitch. "Yes, you are,"

"I was,"

"No,"

Jemma's head tilts up toward the ceiling of his apartment, free hand clenching in the couch cushion. Dim light pours in from the street lamp outside, but it's brightened by the single bulb that Fitz needs to patch her up.

"I was a good person, at some point, I suppose," she murmurs. "But I'm not anymore, Fitz. Stop trying to make me out for something I'm not,"

Fitz finishes the last stitch, resting his wrists on the very edge of the couch so as to not stain it with blood. "You're Jemma Anne Simmons," he shrugs, inspecting the wound. "Been my best friend since I was sixteen years old. If anyone should know, I would."

He tosses the scissors and needle into his first aid kit, clinking against the silence of the room.

"You can say you're damaged all you like, but I know as well as you do that that's just you being a romantic."

"You're the cheesy one if any of us," she jests back, mock glaring. "Using my full name."

"Yeah, well," he grabs a wet towel to sponge around the stitches. "It's better than the Punisher or whatever shite they're calling you nowadays,"

She rolls her eyes. "That was all Daisy's doing, if you must know," she winces at a particularly hard stroke of Fitz's. "For a blind woman, she can certainly spray paint a decent skull,"

Fitz can't help but crack a grin at that. "She is rather talented," he wipes at his fingers. "Don't let her know I said that,"

"She probably heard you," Jemma smirks as Fitz tapes a bandage over it. They both smile.

"Probably. Bloody Devil, isn't she?"

He finishes packing up his supplies, allowing Jemma to pull down her shirt. Sitting up, she winces at the tension on her stitches, but manages. "I ought to head back,"

Fitz turns on the sink. "No, I'm not letting you out there,"

She rolls her eyes, listening to the sound of Fitz's restless scrubbing. "I'm a grown woman,"

"Yeah, but I'm your best friend," he responds, taking a moment to gather his courage. "And 'sides, I sort of . . . want you here,"

"You can't possibly be wanting a known killer in your apartment, Fitz," Jemma responds, reaching for the cap to the whiskey bottle. "How would you even be able to sleep at night?"

"Rather soundly, I'd imagine."

The water shuts off in the kitchen, and Fitz comes out drying his hands on a towel. He sits next to her on the couch, and there's a moment of silence between them.

Jemma keeps her gaze firmly on the blank wall across from them, not daring to look up at Fitz's profile. It would only lead to her doing something she'd regret, tongue loosened from the alcohol and pain. She's lost too much to lose him, too.

"Do you ever consider giving it up?" he asks after a handful of minutes, voice quiet.

She swallows tightly. "Everyday."

"Then why don't you?" Fitz turns to her, hands resting on his knees.

Jemma blinks, remembering just last week. A little girl, dirty and terrified and locked in a hotel room. She shakes it off.

"There's parts of this city you haven't seen, Fitz," she responds quietly. "After . . . After Maveth, I was angry. I wanted someone to pay,"

"And they did," Fitz interjects, but Jemma shakes her head.

"They did, but how deep I had to go to cut them out . . . It only showed me more. It's like cancer, Fitz. It's everywhere and part of everything and good people are dying because of it," she lets out a tired breath. "Daisy can't do it all on her own,"

Fitz's hand twitches, and her eyes are drawn to it. It's a reminder that she wasn't the only one to have suffered at Hydra's hands.

"I have to protect you, Fitz. You're the only thing that matters anymore," she bites out, hating how her throat tightens. "You're my best friend,"

He sucks in a deep breath. "Yeah, and you're more than that, Jemma,"

His hand shakes harder at that, and her eyes flit to his face. Eyelids shut tight, he's pressing the thumb of his good hand into the palm of his other.

More than that. She shoves down that stray spark of hopeful joy in her chest, reminding herself of who she was, of what she does. It doesn't matter that she wants to have something more than this. Her reddened ledger alone was enough reason to shut out any chance at a relationship.

And then Jemma can almost feel herself shaking. It's with fear and uncertainty and that little dose of shock, and it's that little jolt that causes her to stand up quickly.

"Jemma -"

"You can't love me, Fitz," she whispers, but somehow that feels stronger than yelling. "I murder people. I destroy things."

"That's not you, though, Jemma!" he retorts, standing to her height. "You're a smart, kind person who is doing the right thing in this goddamn city. And as much as I hate to say it, those people out there -" he jabs a finger toward the window, toward the darkness. "- deserve what you do."

She shakes her head, suppressing the urge to grab him then and there. Regardless of how she felt - feels - for him, she has never had any intention of letting it show. Fitz is innocent and whole. He has a future. But she's already broken, ripped up and stitched back together.

Tears threatening, she bites her lip and looks up at the ceiling. "God, Fitz," she whispers, willing her voice not to break.

"And despite all that, I still . . . I still love you,"

Jemma can't look at him. Somehow, she knows, looking at him will mean kissing him senseless, and there's already been too many mistakes made here tonight.

"You don't have to say anything back. I know you don't -"

Jemma lets out a humorless laugh, finally bracing herself to turn towards him. "Don't you get it, Fitz? I do, too. And that's the problem,"

"I already love you. I have since that night when we first fell asleep on each other back in university. And I can't do a goddamned thing about it because if I love you, that means that I will inevitably hurt you," or get you killed. she pauses, sucking in a breath, and wonders when it was that she had started crying. "and I love you,"

Fitz hesitates a breath, but then he's cradling her head against the wall somehow, and his lips are on hers, and somehow that split lip she has doesn't seem to throb when his tongue snakes across it. She can feel herself responding, and God how her chest aches because this is it, this is the first and last time she will ever kiss her best friend.

His big blue eyes flash into hers once he finally lets her go, and Jemma can't do much else than just reach for his curls to pull him back down to her. It's dangerous, she knows, but it all feels so right, and surely that can't be such a bad thing.

"I don't care," he whispers when they have to finally break apart. "I haven't stopped loving you through a second of this, and I don't care how bloody lovelorn that sounds, because it's true,"

He runs a hand over the side of her face, fingers brushing a short lock of hair behind her ear. "We're going to figure this out, okay?"

Jemma can't help but nod, falling forward to wrap him in a tight hug.

Perhaps, together, they will find a way.

* * *

 _The way that we are_

 _Is the reason I stay_

 _As long as you're here with me_

 _I know I'll be okay_

* * *

I've decided to spam all of the stories that I've written over on AO3 and Tumblr here since I've generally decided I'm done with this site. It's just not worth my time anymore, though FFNet will always hold a warm place in my heart. You can find me on AO3, Tumblr, Wattpad, and Instagram from here out. The user for all are the same as here — WhenTheSkyeQuakes :)

Reviews are always much appreciated.

— Kayla ❤️


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